


we've got one thing in common, its this tongue of yours

by Kt_fairy



Category: The Terror (TV 2018)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, F/M, Getting Together, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Pegging, Post-Break Up, Rimming, Sex Toys, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Fingering, bedroom acrobatics, its awkward until it's not
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-15
Updated: 2020-11-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 17:15:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27400294
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kt_fairy/pseuds/Kt_fairy
Summary: Things that are messy can sometimes be a lot of fun.ORFor those who want to rail one, and be railed by the other.
Relationships: Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames, Past Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier, Sophia Cracroft/Captain Francis Crozier/Commander James Fitzjames
Comments: 24
Kudos: 54
Collections: Fall Fitzier Exchange





	we've got one thing in common, its this tongue of yours

**Author's Note:**

  * For [verybadhedgehog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/verybadhedgehog/gifts).



> Written for verybadhedgehog's prompt; _OT3 with Francis, James & Sophia, i would like to see pegging. can be modern or canon period. might be nice to see James in a dress (or chemise & petticoats etc) while we're at it._
> 
> A million million thanks to Norvegiae for their support, and to MsKingBean for grammar, sexy checks, cheer-leading, and for helping getting this worked out while drunk on cider.
> 
> So, some of their 'narrative' points don't really translate all that well to modern day, and some tiny changes were made that I hope are interesting. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Sophia had been so ready to hate Francis.

Which might not have been all that fair, but then she thought the situation entitled her to be a little upset.

They - she and Francis, that is - had a relationship that put Richard Burton and Elizabeth Taylor’s to shame. They had met at one of her aunt Jane’s glittering fundraising functions for global warming research; Sophia casually wandering up a table near the front to meet Michael Palin, and instead ending up talking to an Irish meteorologist for the rest of the night. The next six years had been a catalogue of on-and-off-again dating, broken engagements, tumultuous emotion, and periods where they were very, _very_ long distance while Francis was on the Halley research station in Antarctica for a seven months of a year. 

It had worked, strangely. Both of them were stubborn, and passionate, and enthusiastic about their work; Sophia was confident, ambitious and naturally self-reliant, Francis down-to-earth, shy, and un-fussy. He needed the familiarity of having someone to love when he was on the other side of the world, and it had been so very uncomplicated for Sophia to love him back. 

They always argued; and, clichéd though it was, always enthusiastically made up. The physical side of things had always been easy, ever since they had fucked against the coats hanging in Sophia’s hallway barely five hours after they had first met. 

But then Francis had been given a research position at Imperial College, and having him in London all year around was not as good as she had thought it might be. All anyone asked about was marriage and kids, and when they were moving in together; things Sophia had never really wanted but Francis had, and were always put off as something to talk about later - after this career milestone, or that project, or this bit of funding.

Their arguments got worse. Sex and space stopped plastering over the cracks. Francis’ bastard of a dad died, then his quiet, lovely mother, and Sophia had not known how to be present and available when Francis - who had always done most of the emotional heavy lifting in their relationship - needed her to be. Had not known how to be patient when he was sad and sullen. Had not known how to give more of herself, because she was just not made that way.

After their eighth fight that August, sitting watching the hazy pink of a London sunrise make its way up the brickwork of Francis’ Victorian maisonette, he had said, “I think this might be the end of it.”

“End of what?” Sophia asked, voice hoarse from the shouting they had come out to her Mercades to do, so as to not disturb the neighbours.

Francis picked his head up off the foggy passenger side window, scratching through his greying beard. “Us,” he sighed, as if it was a burden he had been carrying a while. “I think it may have been over for a long time.”

“Oh,” Sophia clutched the bottom of the steering wheel, then dropped her hands into her lap. She waited for one of them to say something, listening to the electric whirr of the milk float trundling up the road and breaking the early morning quiet. 

“How many times have we said that, over the years?” Sophia spoke eventually, looking over at Francis whose eyes were fixed on the dashboard.

“Oh, at least once a year,” he smiled briefly. “But one of us always had a good reason why we shouldn’t give up,” he said, and they returned to silence. 

Three weeks later Francis had gone to an environmental conference in Vancouver, to give yet another talk on the Antarctic ice shelves and their continued receding.

It gave Sophia the time to clear her head, and then try to wrap it around them being truly, permanently, over. Francis had admitted to Sophia in the aftermath that he had been brooding over calling time on them for a few months before he did it. And upon having it presented to her, Sophia could not disagree that they had been out of step with one another for a good while. And that they were not making one another happy anymore. 

It was just… well, after _six years_ \- not all of them monogamous, true - Sophia had expected maybe a little longer than six months before Francis was in a serious enough relationship to tell her about this guy who he had met at that bloody conference.

A younger guy. Who was half Brazilian _._

“... _Brazilian_?” Sophia couldn’t help repeating when he let that fact slip over coffee on the roof of Selfridges, Francis wincing because he obviously knew how that sounded. “If you want people to think this is a midlife crisis, that’s how you do it.”

“He’s an environmental-physicist, hardly a -”

“Boy toy?” Sophia said sharply, to let Francis know she was a bit miffed by all this. 

Francis had not prickled, or looked embarrassed, or even protested. He took the jab with good grace, because Sophia was _allowed_ a jab (was she really that easy to move on from after six years? Had they been going through the motions for that long? Were they really as ill suited as her aunt claimed?), stuck his hands into the pockets of his shearling jacket as he leant back in his chair.

“He’ll be mortified you think he’s young enough to be a toy boy,” he smiled as if the thought was funny, a flush creeping up to his ears. 

Sophia had taken note of that blush, and on getting home that evening had looked through this new bloke’s Instagram while sitting on the toilet. She scrolled through photos of exotic places and plants from seemingly every corner of the globe, of a range of children he seemed to be godfather to, of parts of an article he had written for National Geographic. Of Francis sitting on his bike looking out at a view or standing on some sort of boat smiling bashfully for the camera, or sitting on a floral patterned couch she did not recognise, frowning at the laptop perched on his knees, the screen reflected in his glasses. 

And when she finally found a photo of this _James_ , lounging beneath a tree in a park, all tanned and long limbed, she had to place her phone face down on the edge of the sink. It felt embarrassing to be looking at someone so intolerably handsome while she had her pants and tights around her ankles.

“What kind of name is James Fitzjames anyway?” Sophia muttered to herself as she washed her hands, sighing at her lack of tan and hair that was due a wash, before giving the situation over to the group chat.

They all agreed that James Fitzjames was a stupid name, which gave Sophia a petty sort of satisfaction as she sat curled up in the corner of her greige sofa in her minimalist flat that Francis had always hated.

The Ross’ lived just up the road in Holland Park, and twenty minutes later Ann turned up on her bike with a bottle of wine in each pannier; her cheeks flushed with the cold night air and the legs of her dungarees rolled up around her calves. They ended up on Sophia’s narrow balcony, Ann sipping her second glass of wine while Sophia smoked the one cigarette she allowed herself a week, listening to faint sounds of the TV inside and the constant hum of the city.

“I’ve known about the new boyfriend for a couple of months now,” Ann admitted quietly, idly picking some dead leaves from the plants that lined the balcony rail. “I’m sorry for not saying anything.”

“I thought you might know,” Sophia sighed, pulling her cardigan tighter about her. “But you’re Francis’ friends first, so I get it,” she smiled. “It’s okay.”

“James told me not to say anything. He said it would be best to let Francis tell you when he was ready.”

“It’s that serious, is it?” she said, half joking, but Ann’s silence confirmed what Sophia had known. She watched Ann for a moment, the breeze shifting through her curls that she had cut short into a mummy bob this summer, and wondered what it was like to give yourself up to someone else - to _kids_ , who will need you for the rest of your life. Wondered, not for the first time, if there was something wrong with her for valuing her independence so highly. 

“Tell me about him,” Sophia said in a cloud of warm breath and cigarette smoke. “ _Fitzjames_.”

“He’s nice. Very smart. Funny too. And really does look like that in person,” Ann shrugged, glanced at Sophia. “I think they’re going to replace me and James as _that couple_ , you know? Cause they're both a bit besotted, to be honest.

Sophia nodded, and held out her cigarette. “Like I never was?” she asked rhetorically, and Ann just took the cigarette from her.

She was glad, Sophia decided as she looked out at the faint glow of central London against the dark skyline. Francis deserved someone nice. Someone who was prepared to put emotions and time and patience into another person, rather than running hot and cold all the time. Someone who wouldn't have horrible nightmares about being trapped after getting engaged, or just talking about the prospect of moving in together.

She loved Francis enough to want him happy, even if she couldn't give him that.

* ***** *

“So,” aunt Jane said to Sophia during their weekly lunch at her legal chambers. Her aunt’s open plan glass and steel office really setting off her view of London which was nothing but grey low cloud over dull grey buildings this Wednesday. “Do you miss him? Francis?”

Sophia chewed on her falafel, and thought about how Francis was still on the other end of the phone. How they still met for coffee, and gave one another advice, and hung out with friends, and even popped around one another’s houses occasionally, although it all happened less frequently than it had; for obvious reasons. 

Francis was still there, still in her life. They had simply taken a step back. And also no-longer shagged. Which, if she was honest, she did miss; the few Bumble dates she’d had were fine, but, well - good sex was good sex, especially when it was with someone you liked. 

“He’s still around. Not like he dropped off the face of the earth because he moved on,” Sophia said, and her aunt shook her head as if she despaired of the whole situation.

The only thing about Francis that aunt Jane had ever approved of was that he was Irish, and that was because _everyone_ liked Ireland and the Irish. She would wax lyrical about the people and the place, which of course made things awkward for Francis, as he had grown up in Ulster right in the midst of the Troubles; his memories of home were dodging his alcoholic father, Catholic terrorists, Protestant terrorists, and British soldiers at road blocks.

Everything thing else about him - his liberal politics, his profession ("meteorologists make a job for themselves, surely they can automate all those instruments at the south pole”), and his sexuality (“if he’s proposed to you, how can he be bisexual?”) - was met with disapproval. Even, it now seemed, his decision to finally end things with Sophia.

She took a sip of her water, looked her aunt in the eye and said, “but I do miss the sex.”

Jane raised a sculpted brow, but did not look up from her court schedule. 

“You own a vibrator, don’t you?” she muttered, and Sophia almost chocked on her lunch.

* ***** *

“... and we have to claim the lease was ‘frustrated’ by Brexit, but it was signed under English Law, and the government changes what that means day by fucking day -,” Sophia groaned, rubbing her temples as she sagged against edge of Francis’ kitchen table, the scratched and coffee stained surface perpetually covered in note books and paper copies of scientific journals. “I’m sorry. I’m ranting on about myself.”

“It’s okay, you’re venting,” Francis said automatically, not pausing his clattering around as he unloaded the dishwasher.

“It’s not,” she muttered, watching Francis reach to put something away in a cabinet, his dark blue jumper riding up to reveal a stretch of pale skin that, a year ago, she would have crossed the room to press her fingers against. “I’ve learnt from our break up, believe it or not.”

Francis shot a cautious grin over his shoulder as he stepped over Neptune, who was currently a great mass of dozing fur sprawled out in the middle of the floor. “Is that all it took?”

“Yep,” Sophia sighed, finding that as tragic as she did amusing. She stood, holding out her hands as he went up to Francis. “Let me help.”

“There’s only five tings left,” Francis said for politeness’ sake, even as he handed Sophia a pan and nodded to a cupboard. 

“Remember when I piled them wrong and they almost broke your foot?” she said, trying to work out where it lived amongst the saucepans, swearing the cupboard had been rearranged since the last time she had been here.

“James Ross’ foot, right before we were going to Antarctica,” Francis corrected, the smile obvious in his voice. “A stray wok falling out of a cupboard almost stopped him from ending up on TV -”

“-and making ice sexy,” Sophia said at the same, grunting in triumph when she got the pan balanced. “He foiled my cunning plan to keep you safely tucked up in London with me.”

She straightened just in time to see surprise flash across Francis’ face. “You were in Brussels,” he said, “you only came back to wave us off.”

Sophia nodded. “I could wish I’d have done some things differently, but I don’t think it would have changed anything in the end.”

“True,” Francis nodded, leaning his hip against the black laminate worktop.

“And I did wave you off very thoroughly, if I remember rightly,” Sophia said without thinking, biting her lip when Francis almost barked a laugh, a flush creeping over the top of his beard.

“Oh, I remember _very_ clearly. I could hardly - ” he began, and that was when the front door banged open with a jangle of keys, followed by the scrabble of claws on the hardwood flood as Neptune hurried off with a _boof_ of excitement. 

“That’s James,” Francis said softly as a muffled voice cooed at the dog.

“Okay.”

“Okay?” 

She nodded, and Francis touched her elbow as he stepped around her.

Sophia had been hoping to run into the new boyfriend when she came to drop off Francis' Glacier boots that she had found under her bed; preferring a chance meeting to some strangled formal introduction at a restaurant that no-one could escape from.

She still preferred it, even though she did feel like a bit of a prune standing in the kitchen, looking at the overgrown bush outside of Francis’ window while trying not to listen to the hushed conversation happening in the hallway. She turned because she could never stand dithering, and caught the tail end of hello kiss, Francis’ hand resting on the boyfriend’s hip.

Sophia averted her eyes out of politeness, thinking of how she had always needed to be in the mood for these small public displays of affection that came so easily to Francis. 

Movement had her looking up again, and then up some more, as this James Fitzjames was taller than she expected. But just as strikingly attractive; genuinely good-looking, not just tall and posh, with olive skin and dark brown eyes and great bone structure, his floppy hair perfectly mussed by the breeze outside. 

She smiled her professional smile, and he gave her one back as Francis introduced them. Sophia offered her hand, and was impressed when he did not shy away from a firm handshake like some men did.

“It’s so good to finally meet you,” he said in a voice that was so smooth and deep it surprised her. “Francis speaks very highly of you.”

“As he should,” she joked. “I only hear good things about you. From people who aren’t Francis, too.”

“Ah well,” he said, seeming both embarrassed and pleased by that, pulling down the edge of his striped turtleneck jumper so it sat just right along the top of his jeans which looked tailored to his long legs. “I never know what to say when someone says things like that to me. I feel like it all becomes false modesty.”

“That’s very honest of you,” Sophia said, surprised that he managed to say that without sounding like a typical twat in a turtleneck. "I'm just dropping off some of Francis' Antarctic stuff I found."

"Ah," James looked to where Francis was standing at his shoulder, eyebrow raised. "Is that what Nep is drooling over by the door?"

"Won't be a moment," Francis said as he disappeared, the sound of him telling off the dog fading into the distance as James turned back to Sophia.

"I'm - are you going to stay for dinner?"

"Not if it ruins your plans."

James waved that off, moving past her to get to the last of the dishes, "pasta and trying to keep off our work emails, that's all we really had planned."

Sophia considered how that was the exact thing she had wanted to avoid, being trapped by dinner, but then James said in a low voice, “unless that would feel weird? If it would feel weird please don’t feel like you have to." He dropped some forks into the cutlery draw, mouth pulling into a pensive line, “I know that I uh - _happened_ quite quickly, and the… "

“It’s not that," Sophia took a step closer to him. “I was just thinking that I had sort of hoped to run into you here because I didn’t want to get stuck in some awkward dinner.”

“And instead you’re in this awkward conversation?” he said with a hint of a smile, knocking the draw closed with his hip.

“Looks like it,” Sophia shrugged, distantly aware that she was allowing herself to be charmed. “The prospect of pasta makes it bearable.”

James snorted, “so you’ll stay?”

“Yeah, why not.”

James smiled properly this time, full of an easy (dashing, was the anachronistic word that came to mind) confidence that Sophia would usually find unattractive in a man, but somehow it felt merited in this particular one.

He stepped back to close the dishwasher with his socked foot. “Francis will like that,” he glanced towards the door at the sound of Francis plodding up the stairs, and Sophia thought of what Ann said about him being besotted. 

“He will,” she cleared her throat. “I read a bit of your article about what deforestation is doing to big cat habitats.”

“Oh?” he looked surprised, then pleased. “I’m no Attenborough, but Henry and John B - our research team - are quite proud of it.”

“It was very readable,” Sophia admitted, never one to flatter.

“That’s the best compliment a scientist can get, I think.”

“Well, I’m a lawyer, so… corporate lawyer in the City of London,” she leant towards him, dropping her voice conspiratorially. “Which means that I have basically no moral high ground to dislike you.”

He laughed. It was a good laugh; quiet and dry, brightening his face and relaxing the tension she had not noticed was being held in his shoulders. 

Francis re-appeared not long after that, and they stood around the kitchen talking until James kicked them out so he could start cooking. 

They had not spent time together for a good while, her and Francis. It was nice to sit on his comfortable leather sofa again and talk about nothing much, Sophia lazily stroking Neptune’s fur while the air filled with the rich smell of garlic and rosemary. 

She had tucked her toes under Francis’ thigh without thinking; an old habit she had not realised she'd slipped into until James came to stand behind the sofa. He didn't say anything, and Francis didn’t seem to notice, but she casually pulled her feet back all the same, as James said, “pasta’s boiling, so I’m here to snoop.”

“Just telling Sophy about your goddaughter,” Francis said, tipping his head against the back of the sofa to look up at James.

“Oh my God,” James rolled his eyes to look at Sophia. “Fitzjames Charlewood, for a girls name! I said to Ed - her dad - we're not bloody Americans. What's wrong with, I dunno, _Alice_? Bad enough that I’ve lumped myself with it,” he sighed, pushing his fingers into Francis’ hair when he shook his head.

“Yourself?” Sophia asked.

“My last name is Coningham. Fitzjames is a nickname my mum gave me. It’s from the _Lady of Shallot_. She was a poet and a - a eighties feminist basically… “

“ _Louisa_ Coningham?” She asked, almost kicking Francis for not telling her. “I read her collections of poems so much at Oxford that the spines disintegrated.”

“Which is how you can tell a book is good, I think,” James smiled softly, then shrugged. “People know who she is - which I love, of course I do - but you want to make it in life on your own back, you know? So when I was in Naval Cadets it - basically I was stupid and young and thought Fitzjames sounded cool, let it stick through uni, and now I just live with it as a professional last name.”

“It’s his brand,” Francis murmured, grinning when James curled his fingers in his hair and tugged lightly.

Sophia frowned, caught the searching look on James’ face, then said, “I did think _James Fitzjames_ was a bit of shit luck for someone with a Brazilian parent.”

James let his hand fall from Francis’ hair, looking almost delighted that Sophia had said that as he turned towards her. “Luckily I was adopted as a toddler, so it offends no sensibilities. The only Brazilian thing about me is that I make a bloody good Caipirinha,” he paused for comedic effect, "and a misjudged waxing or two."

Francis snorted, obviously in on the joke. Sophia raised her eyebrows, looking over James curiously - as he was not what she had expected at all - and when she met his eyes, Sophia found she was being appraised right back. As if she was just what James had expected. 

* ***** *

It was cold for April, the cloudless sky letting all the heat and the bright lights dissipate into the dull, starless night. 

They had been out to dinner with the Rosses, who, as always when Ann's mum was looking after the kids, had hit the booze rather hard. Not so much as they might get banned from Dishoom, but enough that they had taken the taxi waiting outside the grand plate glass doors. Or rather poured themselves into it, giggling away.

"Will they be okay?" James asked, hands deep in the pockets of his dark trench coat as they watched the black cab head off towards Kensington High Street.

"Yeah," Francis said, "they'll be passed out on separate couches in half an hour."

"Kids, hey. No better contraceptive or sleeping pill," Sophia sighed, shifting a little closer to Francis' warmth, aware of his hand brushing her lower back out of habit, "So much for James and Ann’s big night out."

James snorted, his own cheeks rather flushed from cocktails and the cold, and glanced over at Sophia. “Unlike us, spending a wild Friday evening huddled up to Francis to keep away the chill,” he said, leaning against Francis, which bumped him softly into Sophia.

“Our rugged Antarctic explorer,” she teased, resting her chin on Francis’ shoulder. 

“It’s been explored,” Francis said with the patience that came with being the only sober one amongst the tipsy, tucking his arm around James’ waist.

“We’ll just have to find something else for you to explore tonight, then,” James whispered just loud enough for Sophia to catch, and she turned to the semi-dark of London as the black-cab pulled up at the curb. 

Sophia got in first, James clambering in after her and apologising as he tried to negotiate folding his legs into the footwell, ending up with his patent leather shoe tucked between her boots. 

“It’s okay,” Sophia said, slapping his thigh as the cab pulled away. “Knowing you can’t fit in cars makes up for you having these supermodel legs.”

James pressed his knee against Sophia’s as he sank back into Francis, who was checking the addresses with the cabbie, “people usually call them giraffe legs. Unless I’m in heels.”

“Not everyone has my good taste,” Sophia said archly, struck by the thought of Francis with any man who owned heels, and caught up on the striking image her imagination was providing. “But I’d like to hear more about those shoes.”

"I'll sound like a right queen if I start going on about black satin heels."

"Only need enough to know what to imagine," Sophia said, tongue loosened by gin and tonic.

James almost laughed, but then he narrowed his eyes as he looked at Sophia, cocking his head curiously, "I could always show you what they look like on, my black satin stilettos."

“What about stilettos?” Francis asked, eyes lingering on their tangled legs as he peered around James.

“That got his attention,” James said smoothly, the glow of the street lights rushing over the interior of the cab. He fit his fingers against Francis inner thigh, cocking his head to look at him in a way that made a not wholly unexpected heat settle in Sophia’s middle. “We’re talking about how much Sophia likes my legs.”

“Are you now?” Francis murmured, something palpable passing between them that, somehow, didn’t make Sophia feel like an awkward third wheel.

“We might be having a bit of a flirt,” Sophia shrugged.

“A bit?” James asked, brows raised.

“I’m usually very direct,” she said proudly.

“She is,” Francis agreed, mischief in his eye. “Sophy used to text me every time she masturbated to tell me all about it.”

“Not every time…” Sophia laughed, enjoying this weird flirtation. “Only when I was thinking about you.”

James seemed thrilled at this, looking back at Francis who’s expression was almost unreadable in the dark of the cab. “Me, and other things.”  
  


Sophia felt a twinge in her gut as she leant closer to James and said quietly, "there was that one time where James Ross popped up out of nowhere...” remembering the intense, lamp breaking sex they’d had afterwards, Sophia pinning Francis’ hands to the bed while whispering every detail into his ear.

"Well," James glanced at Francis, "he is a good looking man," then back to Sophia who could feel the warmth of his leg beginning to seep through the denim of her jeans, "but that was never on the cards?”

"He's devoted to Ann," Francis said quickly, which was true, and Sophia wondered how much Francis had told his James of what he and the other James used to get up to during those long isolated months at the research station in Antarctica.

"Yeah… and he just doesn't have your legs, James."

Francis laughed, and James grinned, knocking his foot against Sophia’s. "Well then. If that's all it takes, you're more than welcome to spend the night with us."

It was then, almost at the same moment, that they remembered that the cabbie could hear them. If what James had said was a joke or not became lost to the evening, and they fell into a nothing conversation about dinner until the cab pulled up outside Francis’ home.

She hugged James goodbye, leaning past him to kiss Francis’ cheek, and then had to stop herself from getting out of the taxi with them. It was clumsily done, but she got the impression that they would not have minded if she had followed them right into bed.

Which was a terrible idea, Sophia told herself as she hunkered down in the back of the taxi. They could not even blame it on the booze, as she and James had not really been _that_ drunk, and Francis was seven years sober. Besides it _really_ was a _terrible_ idea. Unfair too, dumping all of her history with Francis into his and James’ bed.

It would end in disaster. Turn something amicable into a fucking mess. 

And yet… 

* ***** *

Sophia lay panting on her bed, hand slightly numb from the powerful oscillation of her vibrator, mind ticking over the scenario that had just been swirling through her head while she brought herself off. The sure broad hands and soft mouth she knew so well, the touch of elegant fingers and press of a long, lean body she could only imagine as being yoga perfect.

She blew out a deep breath, planting her feet on the bed as he brought her knees together, and reached for her phone. 

It was one of the soppiest things she used to do, messaging Francis whenever she’d thought about him, leaving them to pile up while he was in Antarctica as her way of letting him know she was missing him.

Now, Sophia looked at his name on her screen, chewing on her bottom lip as she thought about the atmosphere in the taxi last night. Thought about the spark, the physical ease, that had always been between her and Francis, and how James not only did not seem to mind it, but fit into it perfectly. 

She had no idea what conversations they might have had about her and Francis, or even about her. All she knew was that James had flirted and she had flirted back, and Sophia had been around the block enough times to know what that meant.

Maybe it was a bad idea, she thought as she tapped on Francis' name, but they were all old enough to make their own mistakes. And she was not above letting a wank convince her something was a good idea.

  
  
  


**Me**

_So. Guess what I just did._

_the clue is "cardio"_

**Francis**

_Well, as you don’t usually tell me when you've gone to the gym._

_I can only guess this is a good old post orgasm update._

Sophia chewed on her lip, tapping her thumbnails on the bottom of her phone as she considered if she should go on, or leave it as a bit of a cheeky joke between exes who were still friends. It didn’t have to mean anything. 

But then she was a lawyer, her profession was clarity. And the remains of this tension with Francis, that had spent six years either exploding into arguments or simmering into sex, should be addressed now that he was with James, and obviously happy. As should the occasional, light-hearted but not always joking flirtation she had with James, who was not quite as high on the Kinsey scale as she had first thought.

The last thing Sophia wanted was to make this messy when they had so neatly dodged that fate. 

  
  


**Me**

_Yes, seeing as it was brought it up last night_

_brought back some memories_

_and some new thoughts_

_As well._

**Francis**

_That is very intriguing._

**Me**

_What would James say about that!_

_Dr Crozier!_

**Francis**

_He says he’s intrigued too._

_“Sounds stimulating” (his words)_

**Me**

_was very stimulating_

_And why I messaged you._

_As it involved the both of you_

**Francis**

_Oh_

**Me**

_Yeah? Not weird or anything?_

**Francis**

_You’d not be telling me if you thought it was_

_James doesn’t think so_.

**Me**

_I thought of you both. I don’t think I meant to but I did_

_And it was good_

**Francis** ****

_I’m pleased to hear it was_

**Me**

_I got a vibe in the the taxi last night_

**Francis**

_If that’s still appropriate to say_

**Me**

_And what amounted to some testing the waters, it felt like._

_but i want to know if it still stands._

_And where we all stand._

_I don’t want things to get complicated for you_

  
  


There was a pause then, and Sophia picked up her vibrator as she rolled off of the bed, padding into the en-suite rather than watch the typing dots appear and disappear as Francis worked out what to say. 

Of the two of them, she had always been more certain about what she wanted in bed, and this was quite a thing to ponder; even if Francis was letting her down gently, and clarifying where they all stood. Which was what he must be doing, Sophia thought as she stood in the middle of the bathroom watching her claw foot bathtub fill up; enjoying the soft scent of her lavender and sage bath salts, and the heated tiles beneath her bare feet. Her thoughts becoming a gentle blur of all the times hands or mouths had wandered during lazy weekend mornings in this bathroom, or the times when Sophia had managed to get Francis into the shower with her to fuck. 

She had just pulled off her t-shirt, clipping her hair up and out of the way ready to slip into the bath, when her phone started to ring from where she had left it on the shelf of towels by the bath. 

It was no surprise to see it was Francis, and Sophia perched on the edge of the tub as she answered. 

“So, you know how I hate _talking_ about things,” Francis said, his accent not moderated like it usually was when he made phone calls. “Well, James and I talked about this.”

“I think it was time we did,” Sophia said, aware of the way her voice echoed around her spacious bathroom. “But I appreciate that it’s an awkward thing to talk about, seeing as we’re not Dutch or French or whatever.”

Francis snorted. “Yeah. Very true. Ummm, yeah. So we talked it over just now, and the - very vague, I know - offer from the taxi stands. Obviously to be talked about more,” he said quickly, ”not like we’re on the way.”

“I wouldn’t let you in. I’m about to get in the bath!”

“You’re having a bit of a Samantha day aren’t you?” 

Sophia smiled, then laughed, glad that their in-jokes survived the break-up; remembering one of the many times she had come home at 2am from prepping a case, and finding Francis dozing on the sofa with Sex and the City repeats playing on the TV, waking up enough when Sophia flopped down next to him to mumble, “ _I’m Miranda, aren’t I_?”

“A little, yeah” Sophia said, glancing down at her naked body.

“Sophy,” Francis said quietly, cautiously, the sound of Neptune’s snuffling coming through in the background, “this isn’t just a new way repeating the circle we were stuck in, is it?”

“No,” Sophia said after taking a moment to gather the thoughts. “I think it’s probably what we always should have been; friends who fuck sometimes, rather than try to make ourselves fit together because it’s what’s expected.”

“I always could depend on your directness,” Francis said, then sighed as if her was leaning back into whatever he was sitting on. “Can’t believe I’m talking about all this at middle age. I was never this exciting in my twenties.”

“Ah, you’re only as old as who you’re fucking, Frank.”

“That - okay. Go and have your bath, I'm hanging up.”

* ***** *

Sophia considered the box of condoms, then the neat pile of loose ones, wondering if it looked more casual if they were out of the box or in it. She had almost put them out in one of her empty Jo Malone candle pots, but that was going slightly too far, considering she had already laid out lube, bottles of water, and a few hand towels on her bedside table.

She liked to be prepared, but the line between that and being too coolly practical was a thin one that she had often failed to walk. Romance was not in her soul, but she had always tried, with varying degrees of both success and effort.

She had compulsively tidied her bedroom that morning; even lining her houseplants up neatly on the windowsill, folding her expensive duvet neatly at the end of the bed and opening the curtains so the perfect amount of afternoon sunlight lit her duck egg blue walls and grey wooden furniture.

Sophia stood back to look it all over, running through the mental checklist she had made of all the boundaries, dislikes, and likes they had discussed over the past two weeks on the group chat made for the occasion. (Maybe it wasn’t just her who was too organised, the two of them were scientists after all, and there was probably an Excel sheet somewhere to do with all this). 

Francis had been the one to get the ball rolling, but it had been Sophia and James who had done the majority of the actual talking; Francis wasn’t the most active on any form of messenger, and he had remained mostly silent until his input was needed, which Sophia could not help worrying was a lack of enthusiasm on his part.

“ _I wouldn’t worry_ ,” Ann had said drily when Sophia told her what the three of them might do, “ _I mean. He’s slept with you both, so it’s really you and James, and what the three of you are comfortable with that needs discussing… You know what, at this rate I’m the only one who_ _hasn’t_ _slept with Francis_. Francis! _Bloody hell.”_

Which was a fair point, even about Francis somehow being the village bike; he had the advantage, if you could even talk about sex in terms of advantages, of knowing and being known by both her and James. Sophia was just used to double-checking what Francis wanted (which she wouldn't do now, and tread on James' toes by acting like she knew Francis better than he did), because he did like to please those he loved; especially in bed.

Francis wasn’t a doormat, or really that ‘submissive’ - he would hardly have kept her attention otherwise - but he did have the excellent quality of enjoying his partners pleasure. Few things were more exciting, or more of a turn on, but, Sophia had learned, it was also very easy to take for granted.

The gradual disintegration of their relationship had been marked by sex where Francis had done everything he knew Sophia liked, but it became increasingly apparent that he wasn’t as in to it as he usually was. That it was sex by numbers, basically. A routine; an old pair of jeans you throw on because you know they are comfortable, not because you felt good in them. And it only perpetuated the disjointed feeling between them.

But there had been moments where things had sparked again; when Francis had tipped Sophia off him and onto her front, dragging her hips up as he sunk into her again. Sophia moaning into the disordered sheets while trying to rock back into the firm snap of his hips until they were both boneless and exhausted and tingling with left over shocks of pleasure,

Sophia hoped today was like that, all passion and equal delight, as she chucked the condom box in the bin and padded out of the room.

The intercom went while she was standing about in her kitchen trying to choose a suitable playlist. She went into the hallway to buzz them in, checking herself over in the mirror by the door while waiting for them; making sure that her lack of a bra was only tastefully obvious beneath the sage green, button though tea dress she was wearing. 

“So I didn’t know what to bring, if anything,” James said when she opened the door, a bottle of blackberry gin tucked under his elbow and an elegant little potted plant in his hand. The collar of his faded red henley was unbuttoned at the base of his throat, and he was slightly ruffled and wide eyed in a very attractive way. “And the ‘succulent’ pun seemed like a good idea at the time,” he smiled, ducking his head to let Sophia kiss his cheek as she took the gifts from him.

“I’m the one who said you’re a succa for a succulent,” Francis muttered from where he was standing at James’ shoulder, frowning distractedly at his phone that he quickly pocketed. “You look nice,” he said, pressing his hand to Sophia’s side when she slipped her arm around his shoulders to hug him, appreciating the familiar warmth and softness of his old cashmere jumper against her cheek. 

“Comedy gold once again,” she said, closing the door as James set their shoes neatly onto the rack. 

“That's what I said,” Francis put in.

“I laughed!” James protested, glancing around the high ceilinged hallway. “I said to Francis when we came up the road, I love twenties buildings like this. They’re very elegant.”

“It is nice, isn’t it,” Sophia said as she ducked into the neat little kitchen so she could put her gifts down, setting the plant in pride of place on the windowsill. There followed the typical, mid-thirties house tour and run down of her interior design choices; Sophia describing the ripping out of terrible nineties fittings and replacing them with something minimalist and a tiny bit Art Deco.

“I couldn’t keep anywhere this tidy,” James said as he looked over the shelves of carefully arranged books and ornaments that flanked the TV in her large, bright living room. “Francis and I can’t help collecting stuff.”

“You make the aesthetic work,” Sophia said, a lawyer’s non-comment, and looked to Francis who was standing quietly out of the way, hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans; neither awkward nor particularly relaxed. 

Francis hung back in the doorway when Sophia led them into her bedroom, looking over Sophia’s preparations with a very slight raise of his eyebrow. Sophia hoped he would make a joke, or say something to give a clue as to what he was thinking, but as usual he kept it to himself. 

She left him to it, turning her attention to James who somehow looked even taller in her peaceful, orderly bedroom, Sophia very aware of him as he came to stand by her bed. He looked at Francis, seemingly unconcerned that he was dragging his heels, then trailed his eyes over Sophia in a way that almost felt like a caress - not an ounce of appraisal in it, only appreciation - before dropping his hand casually onto the pile of hand towels by the bed. 

“I’m glad for this, nothing worse than staggering around looking for something in a strange room while everyone else is having a good time.”

“I thought I was being too organised. Letting my Girl Guide show.”

“I was a Naval Cadet, so I wouldn’t worry,” James smiled, so at ease that Sophia felt some of her nervous excitement calm. “Now, this might be the least straight thing I have ever said, but these are _very_ nice towels by the way. Where did you get them?"

"Sainsbury's," Sophia said, nodding when James raised his eyebrows in surprise. "On sale too."

"Never let you down, Sainbury's," James said, patting the pile of towels.

"Really?" Francis asked from where he was leaning in the doorway, arms crossed over his broad chest, an amused glint in his eyes as he looked between them. 

"What?" Sophia asked hands on her hips, feeling very satisfied when she caught Francis obviously trying not to stare at her tits.

"They're good towels," James said, rich voice low and smooth, and pivoted on one foot to perch on the edge of Sophia’s bed, head cocked coyly as if he had no idea how it showed off his lovely long neck. "If we're going to get hot and sweaty, bodies all sensitive and tingling, then you want something soft against your skin." 

Francis huffed a laugh from behind her, “all right, you win. The towels are important.”

James smiled, all wonky teeth and crinkled eyes, the coy conceit vanishing and leaving that unexpected, self-effacing gentleness that made Sophia want to both gently cradle his head in her hands, and tangle her fingers in his hair and tug.

“Seeing as James has plonked himself on my bed,” Sophia looked from James to Francis, who was yet to step into the room. “How do we want to go on from here? Talk about it some more, or… ?”

“As Francis knows us both _very well_ ,” James said lightly, eyes never leaving Francis who was chewing on his lip as he watched them, “he might be able to give us a pointer or two?” 

“Well,” Francis paused, which Sophia took to be his usual demurring when it came to what he wanted, and was about to gently encourage him when he said with an easy surety, “kissing is usually a good place to start. I think I’d not mind seeing that.” 

Sophia was surprised in a warm, fluttering way. She had convinced herself that Francis was uncertain, maybe even reluctant, but it was just the self-possession that she had seen growing in Francis ever since James had come along. And Francis leaning casually against the doorframe, watching them, watching _Sophia_ with a unshowy, certain want was very sexy.

James had obviously not had such a delightful revelation, and was looking up at her, his expression open.

She went to him, stepping between his knees when he opened his legs. Sophia skimmed her hands over his shoulders, brushing her thumb over his Adam's apple to gently nudge his chin up and tip his head back. He really did have lovely eyes, Sophia thought, admiring the way they caught the soft overhead lights as she dipped her head to kiss him.

His hand, heavy and strong, came to rest on her hip as he tilted his head and let Sophia slip her tongue into his mouth. She threaded her fingers into his hair as James ran his hand over her side, pressing gently against the curve of her breast.

She sighed against his lips and swayed closer, aware of Francis moving from the doorway as James touched her thigh questioningly, just under the hem of her dress. Sophia propped her knee against James' leg, warmth clenching low in her belly as he walked his fingers up her inner thigh to touch her through the thin material of her knickers. He let out a soft noise, pulling back to whisper, “I wondered if you were wearing underwear,” against her lips.

Sophia thought of what James had said about having slept with more people with vaginas than women as he stroked her with knowing, teasing slowness; bringing Sophia to a sweet, slow breathlessness before pressing against the damp cotton, swallowing her gasp when he rubbed his thumb against her clit. 

“Let me…" she murmured, James helping her to hike up her dress so she could shove her pants off and kick them away. Sophia pulled his hand back to the slick heat between her legs, gasping into his mouth as he rolled his fingertips over her clit, James bringing Sophia to a point where she let out a shuddering moan before slipping his long fingers into her; rocking them deep and curling them languidly.

Sophia felt Francis against her back then, solid and warm and wonderful. She turned head for a sloppy kiss, sighing when James pressed his lips to her neck and the base of her throat while Francis slipped his hand into her dress to gently cup her breast, thumb brushing over the sensitive peak of her nipple. “Oh,” she breathed as sticky heat flooded through her, and she grabbed wildly for Francis’ wrist. She felt greedy as she pushed his hand between her legs as well, Francis not needing any more direction to put his fingers where she wanted them, circling her clit. 

Sophia cried out, rolling onto the balls of her feet and digging her nails into James' shoulder as they brought her off in the most awkward, treacle smooth way; two sets of hands working just out of rhythm that had her bucking and moaning, chasing that desperate pleasure.

“God,” she huffed, pushing James' hand away when it became too much. She slumped against Francis, pressing her bum against the half hard line of his cock to make him groan against the skin of her neck.

She reached out to touch the flush on James' cheekbone, and he turned his face into her hand, lips brushing against her fingertips.

"Oh," she breathed, a flurry of desire making her hips twitch, and turned her head to press her lips against the scratch of Francis' beard, touching his hand as he pulled it from the front of her dress. "I'll wear myself out if I'm not careful." 

Sophia untangled herself from him, glancing a kiss to the edge of James' jaw as she clambered past him to flop out across the bed breathlessly. She shifted onto her back to unpick the buttons of her dress; a process that slowed right down when James stood, curling his hand around the back of Francis’ neck as he looped his arm around James’ waist, the two of them fitting together effortlessly as they kissed. 

She watched Francis push his hand under James’ shirt, smoothing it up to his shoulder blades and back down until James grabbed at the back of the collar and dragged it over his head. His hair was a not very artful mess when he emerged, James shaking it off his face as he chucked the shirt aside and pulled Francis in for another kiss; Sophia admiring the lean muscle of his shoulders and upper arms, his frankly gorgeous back almost perfectly unblemished apart from a nasty looking scar that ran over his ribs.

James had taken hold of the bottom of Francis’ jumper to pull it off, and Francis - who carried a lifetime of vulnerabilities about with him - hesitated. James paused, neither reassuring him or stopping like Sophia would have, allowing Francis to haul his jumper and shirt off himself before dropping kisses to Francis’ neck and shoulders as he fiddled with his belt. Both Sophia and Francis let out a noise when James went to his knees and tugged his jeans open, James casting Francis a look that Sophia could not see before taking the head of his cock into his mouth. 

Francis swore and grasped James’ shoulders, glancing at Sophia when she raised herself up on an elbow to get a better look, the heel of her hand pressed to the pulse beating between her legs. She was all but naked except for the unbuttoned dress hanging off her shoulders, and she liked it when Francis swore again, tearing his eyes away as he lay his hand on the back of James’ bobbing head.

Sophia was thoroughly into this, especially when Francis glanced at her again, something wild in his eyes when he found her still touching herself. She propped her head up on a couple of pillows so she could watch James swallowing Francis down in an unhurried rhythm that she tried to match with her circling fingers; speeding up wherever James let out a muffled moan, or did some trick that had Francis groaning. Slowing down again whenever Francis looked at her, so he’d know what she was doing.

James pulled away to take a gulp of air, still stroking Francis’ cock as he kissed over his belly. Something passed between them and he glanced over his shoulder at Sophia, who flushed hot all over to find herself being watched, hips rolling into her hand. 

The bed dipped when Francis climbed on to it, then between her legs. He lay one hand on her ankle while kissing the other, then her knee, then the inside of her thigh, the tickle of his beard making her sigh when he kissed along the crease of her pelvis, a sparkle of warmth curling all the way up to her chest.

Sophia was aware of James clambering onto the bed next to her, but her whole attention was on Francis who was kissing every part of her, Sophia digging her nails into his scalp to try to make him put his tongue where she wanted it. "You _shit_ Francis," she ground out, shuddering when she felt the rumble of his laugh.

She was panting, her desire beating insistently with her thumping heartbeat when he finally flicked his tongue against her clit. Sophia pitched her hips down onto the fingers he was curling into her with a slick sound, taking the hand he was resting on her stomach to bring it to her breast that he squeezed gently, pressing his fingers to the sensitive flesh. 

James almost seemed transfixed when Sophia turned her head against the sheets. He was knelt facing them, his jeans already unzipped and his underwear roughly pushed aside, and Sophia could just see the shape of his cock. She reached for it, grabbing his knee instead and moaning loudly when Francis twisted his tongue in a particularly filthy, back-arching way.

That dragged James’ attention to her, his eyes somehow even darker, his lips red and soft and she wanted to bite at them. “You haven’t - no one’s touched you yet,” she panted, protested, searching fingers finding the slick head of his hot prick that twitched against her palm when she grasped him.

He let out a low groan that was so delicious it was almost worth Francis raising his head to see what was going on. She pressed her heel into Francis’ side as James bent to give her a kiss; made uncoordinated by their sighs and catching breath as she twisted her hand over James’ cock and Francis resumed eating her out. Sophia felt very decadent when James pressed his lips to her neck and collarbones, over her breasts and down her tensing stomach.

James’ cock slipped from her grasp when he reached Francis, and Sophia picked her head up so she could watch him run his hand down Francis’ broad back. She let out a high pitched noise when James pushed down the back of Francis’ jeans, his grip tightening on her thighs when James squeezed Francis’ buttocks, pulling them apart before curling across Francis’ back to put his mouth on him. 

" _Fuck_ " Sophia cried out, flopping back on the bed when she felt Francis moan against her. Her hips twisted against his grip and her nails dug into his scalp, Sophia babbling encouragement as she clenched wetly around Francis’ fingers, her orgasm one long release of coiled pleasure.

She was sure that she had accidentally kicked James at some point. There had been no thump of his falling off the bed, or complaint, so she let the thought go while she lay flopped out, taking a moment; ignoring whatever the other two were doing as she floated in the foggy, slick, sparkling aftermath. Her hair was sticking to her face and neck, and her legs were shaking as she squeezed them together, missing the press of Francis’ shoulders against her thighs and the warmth of his mouth. 

After a minute or five Sophia got up, looking over the tangle of limbs that was James and Francis, before picking up a condom wrapper from the sheets to throw it in the bin. She peeled off her dress and chucked it towards her laundry basket, cracking open an unopened bottle of water to gulp half of it down, grabbing the last folded towel to pat dry some of the mess of spit on her thighs, all while watching them together. Enjoying Francis’ lack of self-consciousness that had him naked in a room with two other people, one watching him fuck the other. 

Their heads were close, and they were not quite kissing, Francis’ arm curled around James’ head. James was making quiet, bitten off noises, hips propped up on a towel covered pillow, long (shaved, she noticed) legs bent and raised, knees tucked under Francis’ arms, blunt nails leaving pink trails over his freckled shoulders as Francis rocked unto him with long, leisurely thrusts

Sophia climbed onto the bed, pressing against Francis’ warm back as she ran her neatly manicured nails down his side to palm his pert bum. 

“Recovered?” he asked as he sat up, tipping his head to let Sophia kiss his neck as she hmm-ed in reply.

“Fully. I’m here to repay the favour,” she said, scraping her teeth against the ball of Francis’ shoulder while pressing her fingers to where he was still wet with spit and loose from James’ tongue, making him shiver. 

“You can just ask if you want to fuck me,” Francis said, brow arched as he threw her a glance.

"May I shag your brains out, Francis?" she shot back, grasping him by the hip and leaning her weight against his back to push him deep into James, who winced before throwing his head back and letting out a wounded sound, grabbing at the sheets. 

Francis nodded. “Yes,” he said simply, James’s breath shuddering out of him when he pulled back then rocked in again.

Sophia went to her dresser to get her strap-on from the neatly organised draw where she kept her array of toys, stepping into the four-way harness and pulling the straps tight as she padded back to bed. They were watching her of course - in Sophia’s experience there was always something sexy about a strap - James with his head tipped back like he had been posed. Sophia winked at him, rubbing her fist over the purple dildo, whose weight against her pelvis and the obscene way it jutted out always gave her some swagger.

James’ laugh caught on a gasp, face flushed and glowing, and fumbled for the lube to hand it to her as she knelt behind Francis, “go get him." 

“Go get him?” Francis repeated drily, going down onto his elbows as Sophia got the cap off the bottle. Francis stilled the shallow roll of his hips as she rubbed lube over his arsehole, Sophia placing her clean hand on his lower back as she dipped her fingers inside to feel that clenching sort of looseness that meant he was ready; crooking them to pull a low gasp from Francis, rubbing at his prostate to make him groan. 

“Okay,” she said, wiping her hand on the towel left by Francis’ knees, then twisting her hair out of her way. “Ready?”

She worked her way into Francis by inches, pulling out then rocking in so she could watch the slow slide. And she took things slowly at first, while limbs were adjusted and they worked out a smooth rhythm between the three of them; which was tricky, but they were nothing if not determined. 

Sophia had a grip on Francis’ shoulder and on a handful of his arse as she fucked him. She liked it when Francis told her to go harder without any encouragement, liked it even better when she thrust in time with him pulling out of James, forcing a cry from his throat. And liked it best when he let her fuck him into James, the slap of skin on skin almost drowned out by their panting and moans and the faint creak of the bedframe. 

For a man as brashly confident as James, Sophia thought it was peculiar that he had cast an arm over his face while letting out the softest little sounds. She liked it though, all the desperate little things pleasure made you do; and most of her attention was on Francis’ anyway, his slowly pinking backside, the soft sheen of sweat on his skin that caused the short hair at the nape of his neck curl ever so slightly. 

She lay against the heated skin of his back, resting her head between his shoulder-blades and moving the hand on his shoulder to press against his stomach, practically hugging him as she rocked in deep. Enjoying the pressure of the base of the dildo, and the pleasant friction of the soft leather straps of the harness between her legs. 

Something peculiar and bittersweet was going on in her chest. Thankfully, she was prevented from suffering the embarrassment of becoming emotional while topping her ex by James kicking out his long legs to stretch them. She took hold of his ankle, smoothing her hand up the swell of his calf that didn’t seem to end, remembering their flirting in the taxi all those weeks ago and idly hoping that Francis had fucked him in those mysterious black heels.

She straightened, hands on Francis’ backside, when the pace naturally slowed, stopping all together when Francis reached for the lube. Sophia slipped slowly out of him with a kiss to the back of his neck, hand laying on his waist when he twisted to look at her, his eyes softening when he saw whatever emotion she couldn’t keep off her face. 

“Want to stop?”

“No, I’m fine.”

“Want to swap?” he asked, and Sophia looked to James who was sprawled out, chest heaving as he squeezed at the base of his pretty pink cock that was leaking onto his stomach. 

“Not to be a whiny pillow princess,” he whined like a pillow princess, “but can we stop stopping. _Please_.”

Sophia and Francis shuffled about, Francis chucking the condom and getting a new one while Sophia poured more lube onto her strap. She hooked her elbow under one of James’ knees, leaning over him as she pressed in to where he was already loose and slick, her wobble forgotten in the euphoria of making James gasp and buck beautifully beneath her. 

“It’s not as thick as Francis’, but we’ll make do,” Sophia breathed, propping herself up on a elbow as Francis settle behind her. Something passed across James’ face that made her think, for a moment, that she had misstepped, but it cleared quickly after a glance over her head at Francis. 

“I’m sure you’ll more than make up for it,” James said smoothly, reaching out to rest his wonderfully cool fingers on her thigh as there was heavy pressure and a satisfying stretch, Francis’ hand brushing James’ when he held onto Sophia's hips as his own came to rest against her backside.

Sophia would wonder later how Francis’ back had taken being the middle. She had to plant her hand on James' chest for leverage, core muscles starting to burn as she circled her hips between the delicious slide of Francis inside of her, and James’ desperate noises and the rolling of his body to meet her thrusts. Aware of her third orgasm being coaxed out of her by Francis, while also _really_ wanting to give it to James good.

She finally got a handful of his hair to pull his head back, his cock sliding against her stomach as he bucked and swore when she put her teeth to his throat. A long arm looped around her when she began to moan and pant against his sweat slicked skin, her whole body alight as Francis fucked her as long and deep as she loved; a wave building in her that was already crashing in James. 

He came with a hitched breath, a grunt as he shuddered and spilled, then let out a long, hitching sigh. James let his feet drop to the bed, cradling them both between his flung open legs as Francis began to swear under his breath, Sophia rocking back into his thrusts as he began to lose rhythm.

Sophia cried out as she was wracked by her wonderfully oversensitive orgasm which felt like it was never going to stop; her legs shaking so hard they almost gave out if not for Francis’ grip on her hips as he stuttered to a halt with a ragged noise.

They swayed for a moment, their breathing loud over the low sounds of the music playing (Sophia had forgotten it was even there, blinking in confusion at the sound of Stevie Nicks in her flat). Kisses were pressed to heated, sweaty skin and damp hair pushed back from faces as they slowly pulled apart; James sitting up gingerly to help her get out of the harness that she kicked to the end of the bed, then went to sprawl against the headboard between Francis and James.

She was hot and sticky, hips sore, and markedly tender between her legs; which, in her book, were all signs of a really good fuck. She said so as she sipped at the water Francis had handed out, James murmuring in agreement as he reached across Sophia to take Francis’ hand, pressing a kiss to the back of his knuckles before tucking it against his chest.

* ***** *

There were jets in the walls of Sophia’s shower. They were wonderful on tired limbs and delightfully sore bodies; surrounding you in water and steam, and ensured that you’d always have the benefit of the hot water if you were in there with two big men.

Sophia had thought it might be charged, them all piling into the shower together, but she found she liked the un-sexual, if still a touch sensual, intimacy of being that close to people you had just been rolling around in bed with. Water rolling down bodies was always somewhat erotic, as were the accidental brushes of fingers to flanks or stomachs or Sophia’s breasts. As was watching James wash Francis’ shoulders while he leant against him, always a bit dopey and cuddly after he had cum; Sophia’s laugh echoing over the sound of water when James grabbed Francis’ arse and he slapped his hand away. 

“I feel like I’ve had a massage,” James said when came out of the bathroom afterwards, smelling of minty toothpaste and dressed only in striped boxer briefs, unbothered that he was the only one still undressed. “I love that shower. Even though as I’m an Environmental scientist you can’t quote me on that.”

“Francis already has me sworn to secrecy,” Sophia said, busy remaking her bed with help from Francis.

“My secret shame,” he mumbled, tipping his head to check his phone that he had left on the side, it’s screen lighting up with a quick succession of messages. 

“What’s going on?” James asked, casting his towel in the pile of laundry Sophia had made after slipping into her pyjamas.

Francis sighed, pulling up the sleeves of his jumper. “Somehow Ann found out,” he shot a look at Sophia who tried to look innocent, “and told her husband. And now he’s behaving like a teenager.”

“Probably wants in on it,” Sophia joked.

“Oh no,” James said at once, pulling on his shirt that Sophia had left folded for him. “We’ve baby sat their children. One - weird. Two - just a bad idea to ever shag who you’re babysitting for. Especially if they’ve been on the TV. Which is reason number three.”

“Being on the TV is a turn off?” Sophia asked.

“No good comes from it. Especially if you’ve been on a landmark David Attenborough show!”

“I was in that,” Francis said matter-of-factly. “Well, my parka was… and my snow goggles.”

James gave him an achingly fond look, all warm eyes and soft smile, and crossed to Francis in two steps to peck him gently on the lips, "luckily I fancy you enough to make an exception.”

Francis blushed, getting a grumble on at the attention. “Aren’t you going to order food?”

“So,” James turned to Sophia. “Me and Francis haven’t really eaten 'cause of today’s _activities_. So I’m going to need a bottle of Fanta and,” he held his hands far apart, widening his eyes for emphasis, “a _big pizza.”_

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading, comments are appreciated, and I hope you all have a big pizza in your future.


End file.
